


An Unexpected Visitor

by Wanderbird



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Torchwood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Jack remembers an old friend from a long time ago. But what happens when that friend reappears? And what does Ianto have to do with it? (I'm totally not in Ianto denial, I swear! :)) Rated T for language, now a series of oneshots from my Ffn account.<br/> Warning: Research geek ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What.

It was a slow day for the Torchwood team. Jack sat at his computer glancing through the nearby CCTV footage. Tosh was updating the logs, Ianto was off at a family meeting somewhere. Owen was cleaning up his work area while Gwen organized the newly found alien tech from last time. Jack looked back up to his monitor and froze. There was a particular man, strolling down a particular street. The man looked back at the monitor and smirked. Shoulder-length blond hair, dark blue eyes, dark blue military uniform with a sort of cape around his shoulders—him. Jack glared at the computer screen in a moment, hoping he would go away.  
Flashback.  
June 6, 1944. The day the Americans rode into Paris. The first to greet them after the liberation was a Frenchman with long blond hair and strange blue eyes that matched the color of his stained, bloody, battered blue uniform. He looked exhausted with circles under his eyes and an assortment of bruises and the hand that held a cigarette to his mouth trembled noticeably. Yet the man's composure was still perfect in that uniquely French way. Slumped shoulders, casual pose, old, sad eyes. Those eyes reminded Jack of the Doctor.  
Jack growled to himself. What was the Frenchman's name, back then? He had first introduced himself as "Câblier", which was apparently some kind of boat. All the French resistance took use-names to try and be a little less obvious about who they were. But Jack had sat down with the man afterward and tried to talk to him. The strange, flirtatious, philosophical man. What was his real name?  
"Toshiko?" Jack stood up. "I've found something. I need you and Gwen to get all the information you can on a man named Francis Bonnefoy. He was also called "Câblier" for a while, so look under that name too please."

Jack finally strode into the briefing room, last of all the team, paper copy of what the team had found still warm from the printer in his hand.  
"We have sightings of this Frenchman going an awfully long way back. As in around two thousand years. Over that time, he's been documented to have aged about twenty."  
Gwen's eyebrows rose and Ianto gave a short whistle.  
"The first possible sighting we have was about 58 BCE, documented by the romans during their invasion of Gaul. We don't know for sure if it was the same person, but the description is pretty similar except for the person describing looking to be about six years old."  
Jack clicked the remote for the projector to show the screenshot he'd taken from the CCTV records and beside it a scan of a picture he'd found that had been taken back during the war, of the man and a woman with short blondish hair and mossy green eyes.  
"Documented sightings continue with less frequency until about the fifth century when a young man fitting his description was repeatedly mentioned as an advisor to the king at the time for several hundred years. The only name we have for him during that time period is "Felix"*. Several centuries later, he was mentioned to be a close and trusted friend of Charlemanne. The next important sighting we have is during the Hundred Years' War where he reportedly led the French armies against the British beside Joan of Arc, as if they were married, but there are no accounts of them having actually been formally wedded. He was devastated when she died. By that time, his name had changed to François*"  
Owen gave Jack an incredulous look. "You're saying this guy just happened to be friends with some of the most important people in French history, has been alive since before Julius Caesar, you just saw him on the CCTV records, and yet he only changes his name every few centuries? How do you go around with such an old name anyway?"  
"At least he changed it eventually." Gwen interjected.  
"Back on topic, people!" Jack continued. "Yeah, I know the history is probably boring some of you so fine. I'll skip ahead a bit. There was one section during the final battle of the Hundred Years' War, the battle of Castillon, where he was apparently talking to the leader of the British army and they addressed each other by different names—François was referred to as "France" and the other leader, I think his name was Arthur something-or-other was referred to alternately as "England" and "you bastard"."  
That got some chuckles.  
"During the 18th century, are mystery man changes his to Francis Bonnefoy. He was mentioned to be present during the negotiations and signing of the treaty of Versailles after World War 1 and instrumental in the Resistance during World War 2, which I know a little more intimately than the rest of French history. That's where this picture was from."  
Jack gestured to the projected images.  
"We have rather a lot of pictures from then onward until modern day, in the backgrounds of pictures and in military pictures as well as just souvenir pictures, like friends take. As I mentioned before, during WWII he was also known as Câblier*, as a pseudonym. Two thousand years is a very long time to look no older than in your late twenties. We need to capture him and find out what he is and why he's here." A pity, thought Jack. I liked him. "Any ideas?"

It was only a few hours later by the time they had Francis Bonnefoy in one of Torchwood's cells. Gwen tossed Jack the device they'd used to put the presumed alien in a force cage and strode upstairs, leaving Jack and the unconscious man alone. The unconscious, stunningly beautiful man, as pretty in sleep as he had been under the layer of grit and arrogant nonchalance he'd worn when Jack and the Frenchman first met. Jack stood as silent as he could, telling his libido sternly to calm down. No making out with unknown aliens, not while the alien in question was asleep and unable to give any kind of consent, not on camera and most definitely not without Ianto's knowledge and permission. Finally, after what felt like almost half an hour of waiting, the alien opened his eyes, started to yawn—and saw Jack.  
"Merde.*"

Jack looked at the alien. The man in question scrutinized him for a moment, then his eyes widened slightly, as if in realization. Francis smiled a neutral smile.  
"Bonjour, Capitaine." -Hello, Captain-* The Frenchman straightened up from his sleeping sprawl until he sat slouching on the bench. "Jack Harkness, is it?" The accent wasn't as thick as Jack remembered, but then he had had a bit longer to perfect it since the two last met.  
"Francis." Jack drawled calmly. "I suppose you wouldn't mind telling me what you're doing still alive?"  
The country grinned innocently. "I assume you won't accept that it's because I could never bear to die before you and leave you with such grief at my loss that I would rather die than inflict it?"  
Jack snorted. "Nice try. Why are you really here?"  
Francis laughed, blue eyes sparkling. "It was worth a try. Why are you still here?"  
"Do you really think I'll tell you?"  
The man's blue eyes grew dimmer. "Non. You always did keep your secrets. And now one of those secrets mean you have me here, trapped in a little cage far away from a good wine and the lovely lady that is Paris. Will you do with me as you did with the spy you found as we drove the Germans out of Italy?"  
"No!" Jack's eyes flashed, then he calmed himself with an effort. "If I have to hurt you, Francis, you'll never know what happened. One second you'll be alive, the next you'll be dead. Just tell me what you are and maybe I can let you go."  
"First, tell me one thing. Une petite réponse pour un petit question. "-One little answer for one little question-.  
"What?"  
"What is your little organization for? Your purpose in doing this?"  
"We're Torchwood. That's the only thing I can tell you, and if you try and learn more about it I swear won't find anything—what?"  
Francis had burst out laughing at the mention of Torchwood. "Torchwood? Torchwood?!" he cried. "I thought Rosbif shut that down centuries ago out of sheer embarrassment! Eyebrows still has an organization devoted to tending his fairies?! Ce n'est pas vrai. –that can't be true-I will have to tell Am—Alfred about this, the annoying petit idiot." He gave a final snicker before managing to soothe his laughter a bit.  
"What do you know about Torchwood?" Jack asked guardedly.  
"Pas beaucoup. –not much- I know Arthur founded it a couple hundred years ago to try and 'defend the Earth from outside threats'. But then, Arthur is always talking with fairies and things that don't exist. I thought he shut it down a while ago. Now if he had said it was aliens he was after, that would be different. I've seen aliens before, Alfred's best friend is one."  
Jack raised his eyebrows skeptically. "I don't think I've ever heard of this Arthur of yours, but I do know we're not shut down. And where is this Alfred that has an alien friend? I've never seen that kind of arrangement to end well."  
"Oh, don't you worry, Jacques mon cher. Alfred can take care of himself."  
"I answered your question, Francis. Now answer mine," Jack growled. "What are you?"  
"A boat," Francis answered softly, holding a bright red rose to his lips.  
"That's no kind of answer. Where did you get the flower?"  
"Everywhere."  
"What?" Jack asked incredulously.  
"I got the flower from everywhere," Francis answered calmly. "And I am like a boat. Je ne sais, mais l'État demeura toujours. –I don't know for sure, but the country will always exist—While there is wind in my sail, I must endure, even if I wish I didn't have to."  
"Give me a straight answer," said Jack, "or I shoot your leg."  
"Pardon." Francis leaned up against the plexiglass wall of the cell, legs crossed, shoulders slouched as ever, the stem of the rose held up to his mouth as if it were a cigarette. He looked for all the world like a personification of everything that made French people French, a person seemingly built of nothing but wine, art, cities, and a calm dignity that stayed despite the weevil clawing at the other side of the plexiglass.  
"I am not allowed to tell."  
Bang!  
Francis jumped. But there was no searing pain, and the captain in his trench coat looked as startled as he did. Jack Harkness whipped around to face the door, gun at the ready. It was Ianto, slightly out of breath, followed by all three other members of the team as they tried to restrain him. The noise had been caused by the door hitting the wall. Francis had leaned back against the corner, staring at Ianto from irritated eyes.  
"Let him go, Jack!" Ianto said tiredly. "I know who he is and he's safe."  
Jack's eyebrows found their way back up into his hair.  
"I've met him before, Ianto. Almost a century ago."  
Ianto ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I know about that, but I'm not allowed to tell you. Just let him go."  
"You knew about this."  
"Yeah."  
"And you didn't tell me."  
Ianto sighed. "I can't. En—Arthur would kill me. So would Ludwig. And probably also Ivan, though it's hard to tell his reaction to anything. Except vodka. And his sister. Natasha, not the older sister."  
"You said you were visiting family." Jack's voice was monotone.  
"I was. Francis is my brother. One of my brothers. Not by blood, of course."  
"Of course. And why exactly can't you tell me?"  
Ianto exchanged glances with Francis.  
"I know you can keep a secret. This is an important one, and if you tell it I will quite likely suffer some rather extreme consequences. Let me introduce myself. Jack Harkness, My name is Ianto Jones. My name is also Wales. Francis, allow me to introduce my boss, Captain Jack Harkness. Sir, this is Francis Bonnefoy, better known as France."  
"Enchanté."

*pronounced f-eh-leex, one of the few presumably masculine French names we know of in that time period and the closest I could find to Francis. It's the nominative form of the latin word for happy.

*From early 15th century Paris, taken from tax rolls from that time period.

*A type of boat dating from the mid 19th century used to lay down underwater cables for things like telecommunications.

*Relatively mild French swearword

*Text in between dashes is the English translation


	2. Who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, someone (on ffn) asked me to continue the story a while back, but I have no idea how. Therefore, I instead wrote another little Torchwood/Hetalia crossover, albeit a short one. Hopefully, there will be more to come.

Why had he insisted on joining that bloody drinking contest, anyway? England groaned softly to himself as he felt the freezing dampness of the trash-littered alley against his cheek. It certainly hadn't been in order to save face, given that he had been drunk enough after three lovely stouts to pick a fight with France. Admittedly, he probably would have done the same thing sober, but at least then England hoped he would have been discreet enough not to get kicked out on his arse. At least the bloody disgusting trash heap disguised as an alley he was in was making the nation become a little less trashed, and quickly too. England began to haul himself to his feet when the headache struck. Of course, sobering up means getting the beginnings of a hangover, he thought. Bloody wankers.  
At that point the steel door to the bar opened and a black-haired man in an American officer's greatcoat. England stared a moment, fuzzy mind trying to point out something… peculiar. Aha! That was it. The greatcoat was a design from… the 1940's? World War II. But how was that unusual? England furrowed his eyebrows, sensing that some part of his brain was jumping up and down in frustration, trying to be noticed and understood. Unfortunately, the newcomer interrupted England's difficulty with internal semaphore by stumbling drunkenly toward the wall and sliding down it to sit next to England.

"Hey there!" Jack attempted a wavering salute as he sat down beside a blond man who lay flat on his back in a dark green military outfit. The man glared up at him, revealing green eyes. Jack scrunched up his face in puzzlement. "What? Is it the cater- caterpil- bushy things on your face? 're they bothering you?"  
It took a minute for the stranger to register a response. When he did, the blond man began abruptly to sit up, staring at Jack in confusion. "I have hair on my face?"  
Jack smiled at the sound of the slurred British accent. "Your face, no, that's not right, your voice reminds me of someone."  
"What? Who? I have… voice on my face?"  
Jack blinked. "What? No, no, you've got… thingy on your face. I think. Yeah. Right here." He reached out a hand to poke one of the great blond caterpillars of hair above the Brit's eyes.  
"Oy!" the man cried. "That's my bloody eyebrow!" he jerked away from Jack, only to lose his balance and slither slowly down the wall before dragging his uncooperative body back up.  
"Anyway," Jack continued, "There's a thing, thing, yeah that's what it was, your voice, it reminds me of a guy I used to know. You know. Before he, he left me over here. Yeah."  
The Brit frowned a little, than spoke. "Who the hell are you? Got kicked out, too?"  
Jack shrugged vaguely. "My name is, my name's Jack Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness. Kicked out, whee, out of the bar. Said I was too drunk, picking a fight with a scruffy little kid. He asked for it, asked for it, yeah. Who're you?"  
"Eng—Arthur Kirkland, at your service."

The two sat in silence for a while, the man who introduced himself as Jack Harkness eventually falling over and dozing off. At last England shook him awake as his slowly recovering brain finally managed to get a message across. His coat. The man—Jack Harkness's coat was from the 1940s. And the man himself was not, at least not if visible signs of age were any clue.  
"Where'd you get that coat?" England asked bluntly.  
"Hmm?" The man who claimed to be a captain finally opened his eyes, looking slightly less smashed than before.  
"Your coat. I like it. It reminds me of a friend of mine, from the same time period and all. Where'd you get it?"  
Jack smiled faintly. "I acquired it a long time ago, during wartime. I wasn't really involved of course, not officially anyway. There was a pretty girl there. Really pretty girl. Rose, I think her name was. And him, of course. Creepy time."  
England blinked. "Which war?"  
"Ah, man, I don't know. You're pretty cute an' all, but she was cuter."  
"Girl? Oh, right, you mentioned a girl. Rose?"  
"Rose Tyler, man! Haven't seen her in a long time, well, relatively speakin'. Strangest girl. Loved that guy though, that she traveled with, what was his name? Dunno."  
Another note of strangeness began rapping on England's brain for attention, but he ignored it in favor of tipsy conversation. He leaned back against the wall, staring at the door to the bar. "I knew a girl named Rose once. Haven't seen her in a while, either. Saved my arse from al—some serious problems more times than you could believe. 'Course, half the time I think she, well, her friend really, attracts that kind of trouble magnet."  
"Yeah. I know the feeling, English."  
England jumped. "Why did you just call me that?"  
Jack looked up at him, finally hauling himself into a sitting position. "English? Cause you're English, and you sound English, like really English. You sound and, thing, look like if there's anything that's really English, you have it, or do it, or know about. You know?"  
"Don't."  
Jack looked puzzled at the forcefulness of the reply. "Okay. Fine, jeesh, no big deal. It's just you remind me more of that than of that other guy, the important one, the one you remind me of. No harm done."  
England relaxed again. This babbling buffoon has no idea what he's talking about after all, then. "Who is this man you continue to refer to?"  
Jack narrowed his eyes in the beginnings of sobriety. "A doctor. My doctor, well, not really mine, not really anyone's, not even his own planet's. I dunno his name though, I've only ever heard him called Doctor. Or Doc, sometimes. One person even calls him sweetie! And so I know that I will never have my hands on him or that girl, his girl, Rose. Tragic. You're pretty cute, too, though, yeah." Jack grinned.  
Bloody wanker, England muttered under his breath. American and he acts like France, just my luck.  
At that point, the grey door swung open. Holding it open was Italy, looking as fresh as ever. Bloody wanker, holding his drink that well.  
"Ve, Eng—Arthur!" he cried, "Ludwig said to tell you we'll all be leaving in un attimo! –one moment!—He said if you need a ride, you're on your own and should probably call a cab, which wasn't very nice of him but he's taking one too, probably because he's drunk and doesn't trust me to operate heavy machinery which I think is very mean of him but he's probably right. Anyway! I'm just here to tell you that if you want to catch your train, now is a very good time to leave!"  
England groaned again as he shoved himself to his feet to join the other nations. Wait, he thought all of a sudden. What did that man say the girl's name was again? Rose. And her friend… Doctor. A doctor. No name. Doctor. The Doctor. And Rose. And his name was… Jack Harkness? Jack. Captain Jack Harkness. He turned around to look at the man in the officer's coat sitting skewed in the alleyway. Torchwood.


	3. How?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first question on Captain Jack's mind was how in the world did this completely unknown man get into the locked Torchwood Tower now that everyone else had left for the day. Close seconds were why the stranger was there and how he seemed to know more about him than anyone else on Earth but the Doctor and a couple of his companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during Season 2 of Torchwood. Also, it sets the scene for some chapters on here that actually have something to do with each other! Yay?

"Good evening," said a smooth, masculine British voice about three inches from Jack's ear.   
He jumped. In one fluid movement, Jack turned around and had his pistol pointed at the stranger's face. Said stranger was of medium height, pale with spiky blond hair, but the first thing Jack's eyes were drawn to were the eyebrows. Well, he thought they were eyebrows. They looked like eyebrows, except for the impressive size. The stranger had oddly acute green eyes and slouched against one of the desk chairs in an olive green military uniform from the same era as Jack's coat and no visible markers of rank. Where did he get it? Equally strange, if not more so, the stranger appeared not to have reacted in the slightest to the deadly weapon pointed at his face.   
Jack smiled tensely. "The name's Jack Harkness. You?" The gun didn't move.  
"My name's Arthur Kirkland. I thought I'd... stop in and say hello." The stranger reached a black-gloved hand to push the gun away, an expression of distaste on his face.   
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Not until you tell me how you got in."  
"I walked."  
"Really." Jack glared. "The door was locked, even if you could find it."  
The stranger shrugged. "I know my way around. This place hasn't changed quite so much since last time I was here that I can't recall the layout. Admittedly, those revolting containment cells have expanded, and yes, I recognize the necessity for them, I merely dislike the idea. I suppose some of that bloody prig's morals have rubbed off on me."  
"You certainly haven't been here before legitimately," Jack retorted. "I've worked here for a very long time, stranger."  
"Call me Arthur. I'd be willing to hazard a bet that I've technically worked here longer, assuming a linear timeline. Besides, you spent most of World War Two in the military, not being a secret alien hunting agent here on the home front."  
Jack froze. "How the _hell_ do you know that?"  
Arthur turned those brilliant green eyes on him. "What do you think? I think you can safely put that irritating little toy of a gun away now. You can safely assume that in all likelihood, if I can sneak up this close to you before you notice and seem absolutely unconcerned about your pistol there, I could have killed you as easily as breathing."  
"It's also a safe bet," Jack replied, "That if you know what I was doing back in World War Two, you also know about my condition."  
"Of course." his mouth turned up in a smile.   
The captain sighed and holstered the gun. "Fine. What are you here for?"  
Arthur pulled the chair he had been leaning on around and sat on it with a thump. "Just a chat, Jack. Thank you to yourself and your team for your work on that bloody mess with the Valiant, by the way."  
"You know about the Va--" Jack cut himself off. "You know what, go ahead and finish talking with your information that there is no logical way for you to have." He rubbed his temples. "I can interrogate you later."  
Arthur pursed his lips. "We did meet on the Valiant, I believe, while we were both captive there. You don't remember me? I suppose neither of us were exactly in the best of shape, but we had a bloody conversation! I suppose I must have simply hallucinated it. I just thought for sure-- Well, _he_ did always have a knack for incurring... unusual mental states. I managed quite well, all things considered."  
"So you're some government official?"  
Amusement shined through his eyes. "You could say that. 'Some government official', hah! More than that, truly."  
"Alright. Give me a hint." Jack took another chair and sprawled into it. "UNIT?"  
"No, I'm not with that band of idiot poppycocks." he chuckled. "I work for the UK specifically."  
"Military?"   
"You'd think so, with the uniform, wouldn't you?" Arthur rested his head on one hand. "Not unless we're involved in some truly major war."  
Jack gave him a look.  
"Oh, don't worry, Captain, I earned this honestly, it was merely a long time ago. Here's a hint for you: I technically take orders from both the Queen and the Prime Minister, and that's it."  
"You look a little young for that kind of authority," Jack raised an eyebrow.   
"You're one to talk. I am sad about Harriet Jones, though. I must admit I find myself questioning that irritating pustule's decision on that one." Arthur rolled his eyes. "The bloody arrogant bugger thinks he knows everything about everyone."  
"Irritating pustule?"  
Arthur sighed. "You'd ask far too many questions if I told you. Speaking of which, we should return to the topic for which I originally appeared here."  
"Which is? You never actually said?" Jack prompted. How many times was this 'Arthur Kirkland' going to wave away his questions?   
"Technically speaking, you work for me."  
Jack stifled a growl. "And?"  
"I believe," Arthur continued as he removed his gloves and leaned back against the chair, "we're going to be forced to work with each other with a much greater frequency during the next few years, and into the foreseeable future. An old... friend once told me that the twenty-first century is when everything changes. Given his identity and my own experiences with that sort of thing, I'm inclined to believe him."  
 _That quote doesn't sound familiar at all,_ Jack drawled to himself. _I think I might know who this 'friend' is. But how in the world do they know each other if he's not with UNIT?  
_ "I haven't got any concrete cases yet, but there are things I do need you and your organization to look out for."  
"Why can't you go to UNIT with this?" Jack asked.  
"Because the whole lot of them are bumbling idiots, they don't have any cause whatsoever to take orders from me besides the fraction of their employee base originating from my country, and because half of them report to my fellow na--  my fellows."  
 _More secrets. Great._ "Fine. Continue."  
"Be a dear, would you, Jack," Arthur said, "and refrain from informing your team of my existence. It might raise some rather messy questions."  
"Really."  
Arthur looked quizzically at him. "Yes, really. Now I should be on my way. I would like to get some sleep before the plane tomorrow, I'll have to go to another bloody meeting at that puerile creature Alfred's place." He stood up, pulling the gloves back on.   
"Wait!" Jack caught the sleeve of Arthur's coat.   
The stranger paused, looking back over his shoulder at Jack. "Yes?"  
"How do you know the Doctor?"

~~~

"He took me to the moon once," Arthur reminisced. They were seated side by side on the couch, now, though Arthur had blushed and moved uncomfortably away when Jack tried to put his arm around him. "It was beautiful, but I could go no further."  
Jack still suspected that the story Arthur had concocted about how they first met was not the whole truth. Certainly the man had been obtuse enough, with his tale of running away from some unspecified adoptive uncle and evading the tattling tongues of some unspecified number of siblings, and not a single specific time or place mentioned. "Why is it," Jack asked, "that this is the only question of mine you've actually answered?"  
Arthur winced. "My pardon for that. When you asked me, well, it didn't seem right to simply claim I hadn't the faintest notion what you were talking about. I didn't want to just tell you I know him, though. I truly didn't want to have to spend all this time answering questions, and the Doctor can be a rather dangerous subject. Besides, I thought my mentions of him were sufficiently circumspect as to avoid this whole conversation."  
"It was the quote that gave you away."  
"Ah."  
Jack continued. "I take it you already know or don't care about how I met him?"  
"Oh, I already know. I got it from him, after the first time he met you, he kept mentioning 'that bloody irritatin' con man'. It was simple enough to connect that description with his later ones, and then once I had your name, with your identity." Arthur glanced back at him. "Are there any other questions you urgently require the answer to, or may I take my leave?"  
Jack chose his reply with care. Hopefully, if he picked a question Arthur was actually relatively willing to answer, he might open about some of the others. "You know all this about me, and you're still willing to be on having been part of Torchwood for longer than me?"  
The stranger laughed. "You're not the only exceptionally long-lived creature around, Jack. The next time you're in contact with the Doctor, ask him about the child with the Teutonic Knights." his look turned serious, and inordinately nervous. "Only make sure Ivan doesn't hear of it, please. I don't know what that creepy bugger would do."  
He raised his eyebrows. "I can't just ask him about you?"  
Arthur glared. "Please don't. There's a reason I called him an irritating pustule."  
"Care to elaborate?"  
"No."  
 _You know what,_ Jack decided, _maybe I can use that._ "Alright. Lemme just call him up, in that case."  
Arthur blushed furiously. "Whatever you need to know, you can get from me."  
"Can I? What do you mean by my not being the most 'exceptionally long-lived creature' on the planet?"  
Arthur stared at him for a moment, then relented. "I'd offer to shoot myself as demonstration, but I'm sure you'll believe me without it given your singular experience. Besides, that would eliminate any hope of getting any sleep before the morning and ruin this quite lovely uniform of mine." he brushed himself off. "I'm immortal, mostly."  
"Immortal?" Jack queried. "What do you mean, _mostly_ immortal?"  
Arthur gave a tight little smile. "It's complicated. Harm to my personal body cannot kill me. Harm to my... larger self can."  
"Larger self?"  
"You bloody well are going to ask the Doctor about me, aren't you?" he grumbled.  
"Yep." Jack sat back, putting out of his mind the fact that he didn't have the Doctor's phone number. Maybe he could get it from Martha.  
"..." Arthur ran one hand through his hair. "I'm a country, alright? The anthropomorphic personification of a bloody country. You've met my kind before, only I put a sort of perception filter on your memory about it so you wouldn't continue to ask inconvenient questions." He held up a hand. "Don't worry, I won't do so this time, and to your inevitable moral complaint about altering people's memories without their knowledge, it's no worse than what you and your team do with the Retcon, but with a smaller chance of overdose. It isn't possible, yes, I'm perfectly aware of that, but I don't dictate to the universe what is and isn't possible. I am. Yes, there are more like me, one for every country and a few extra besides. No, I don't pose a threat to humanity, my kind have been with you all since the first bloody time humans got together in a larger-than-family unit and decided to call themselves a group. And because my dignity is extremely important to me, _please_ don't ask the Doctor about me and if you do, don't tell me what he said. We have an extremely convoluted history together and will presumably have just as convoluted a future. The file I dropped on your desk contains some information about a man named Alexander Ginger, and he is stronger even than I am and just as immortal, so feel free to put a bullet in his head if he gets annoying. I'll have to deal with him personally, hopefully once I know a bit more about him."  
"If you're so powerful," Jack said, "how come you ended up a prisoner on the Valiant?"  
The country's laugh was tinged with hysteria, this time. "Harm to our larger selves is harm to us. Harm to our personal selves is harm to us that is guaranteed to be nonlethal and heal quickly. That pairing gives someone like _him_ an extraordinarily exciting playground. He learned about our existence quickly enough, and began taking measures to bring us under his control. Simple. Drop bombs on London, and I feel every explosion, every life extinguished as if it landed on my heart, my hands, my face-- it's not a pretty sight, given that the physical damage usually appears afterward. Attack New York, and America's heart is slashed to ribbons in his chest. Set China's countryside afire, and his fingers blister and burn. I fared pretty well. I even stayed relatively sane."  
Revelation. Jack nodded slowly. "And you're the UK?"  
"Yep." he gave a brittle smile.  
"Martha was the only one to make it out of Japan alive."  
"Yep. Japan wouldn't surrender. So he was destroyed. He died, permanently, at least until the year was rebooted."  
"Ouch." Jack winced. "Do any of the others remember?"  
"No," Arthur replied. "They were either too far gone to care and simply thought it was a nightmare when the world was rebooted or blocked it from their memories if they were on the Valiant at the time. There were a few for whom I had to block the memories."  
"But you can't block out your own memories," Jack said softly.  
"No."

  
Arthur stood, once again pulling on the gloves that lay discarded on the arm of the couch. "Thank you for your cooperation in this matter, Jack. Once again, please refrain from elucidating your team as to my nature and please also _do not_ ask the Doctor about me. I hope your daughter and grandson are well. I look forward to interacting with you again in the future."  
Jack got to his feet. "Nice to meet you, Arthur." He smiled warmly. "You seem to be a mystery wrapped in an enigma, but you're a nice guy. It'll be fun workin' with ya." _Not to mention prying a few more secrets out of that stubborn mouth._ "Besides," he continued with a smirk, "you don't need an excuse to visit me."   
Arthur blushed again, and stammered out a vague response.   
"Let me show you to the scenic exit." Jack drawled.  
"I know where the bloody scenic route is, I paid for it to be put there myself." The country let himself be escorted anyway.

They stood on the sidewalk in the frigid night air, invisible to the occasional passerby.   
"Good evening, Jack."  
"Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Ginger is a reference to MewShiny's story Not Exactly Linear: Tale of the Magical Revolution on fanfiction.net, which I highly recommend. It is listed as a crossover between Hetalia and Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I'm happy to help people with any historical research they might be doing. Just ask!


End file.
